On a Saturday afternoon in the summer of 2020 in the middle of the pandemic I took a road trip north of my house towards a small town. Driving into town I saw the old steeple of a Catholic church in town towering above bushy swaying tree tops. I went to the old main street area, really the only place in town, for a bite to eat. All along the road were old red brick buildings built with the classic genuineness of a bygone era, which small details etched into the design of the windows and doors giving it an Americana charm.

The café was very small and almost empty except for a waitress near a bar in the back and an old gentleman sitting there chatting with her. I enjoyed a catfish sandwich and then decided I’d check out the a famous Brewery before heading back home. The brewery was further down main street on the other side of the railroad tracks. It was about 100 degrees in the hot sun and in front of the brewery door was a small table where a couple sat enjoying some BBQ, and there was a man sitting on top of a statue of a lion waiting for an older.

When I walked up to the door the sign read “Please do not come in inside. Wait at the door and an employee will take your order.” It wasn’t long before a girl came to the door and asked me what kind of beer I like best. I explained that while my favorite type is usually a porter or a stout, but in 100 degree weather I needed something light. She recommended the pilsner, but I ended up going with a lager.

Since the small table and lion statue were taken by two customers already, the only place to sit was a decent walk across the road to a group of picnic tables scattered in an open field next to a building that didn’t seem to be occupied. I went across the street and sat down at one of the tables under a shade tree. Then I took a sip of the beer. It was fantastic.

As I sat there on that table sipping my beer by myself under the shade of a tree in the Texas heat, I started to look around and notice the things around me. The area had a rustic charm. The buildings nearby had a sense of integrity and history, and off in the distance were porches of old southern style houses. This place was known for having been a very active small town years ago, but has since dwindled in population from Urbanization, but as I sat there I thought about the people who had lived here years ago. How many times had young children from the houses nearby dashed across the grass in front of me after a long game of tag towards home for a country cooked meal? How many lovers had walked these streets hand in hand? How many people had walked right around me, and realized to themselves that despite what they had gone through, everything is going to be alright. I also noticed some old rusted tools leaning against the walls in front of me, the other trees in the distance, the breeze, and the summer clouds.

This led me to reflect on a concept I had been thinking about for some time. No matter where you are, if you take the time to notice, there are things to appreciate all around you. Appreciation is a choice and an extension of our empathy, it is like a net that we can cast out towards any object, concept, or thing, and pull back into ourselves spiritual jewels of grace.